And To Thine Own Self Be True
by BiblioBabe
Summary: Let's explore the idea of destiny: will Harm and Mac always be Harm and Mac, regardless of their situation? One could say this is leaning towards AU.
1. Chapter 1

**And to Thine Own Self Be True  
****By BiblioBabe**

**Disclaimer: **

Tapes to record all of JAG pre-DV-R: $200  
Therapy following the last episode: $150/hr  
Not being sued 'cause I don't own them: Priceless  
[The above disclaimer format courtesy of MasterCard ©

**Author's Note: **AU. Don't say I didn't warn you.

**Kokomo  
****The Caribbean  
****1100 hours local  
****31 March**

Mac sighed as she reclined in her beach chair. The warm equatorial sun felt marvelous on skin that had stayed too long under the woolen winter uniforms and--more recently--the constant salty damp of a carrier. At least, she reflected, the "airspace confusion issue" that turned into an international incident had been cleared up, more or less to everyone's satisfaction.

And now, thanks to Webb, she was on an all-expense paid vacation to a delightful little island in the Caribbean. She wasn't sure how he'd been able to swing it on the Company's dime, but she thought that maybe distracting that diplomat from the CIA's presence in the investigation had something to do with it. It wasn't her fault that the misogynist pig had a horror of women in uniform or, more precisely, women doing something outside the home that wasn't directly related to cooking, cleaning or popping out babies.

Asshole. She had no use for diplomats; she never had. Too often, the Corps was called in to patch up messes that had been made worse, not better, by diplomats' meddling. War was hell, she reflected, but diplomats were the fiddlers that directed the shrieking music.

Thank God Webb was there to help her keep her sanity. Ever since they had taken solace in each other's arms following their little… adventure… in that Afghani prison camp, their sexual tension had melted away like the completely abnormal late winter snow in DC had no intention of doing. He was good in bed--there was no denying that--and if she had been the kind of woman who went in for "friends with benefits," they might still be together on that level. But there was no passion, no deep, all-consuming love, just a mutual respect for each other. A good base for a great friendship, but that's all. It had been over a year since they had slept together, and she wasn't missing that aspect of their relationship at all. That aspect in her life, yes, but not necessarily with him.

But as Mac surveyed the men on the beach, it did occur to her that an island dalliance might not be amiss. Life had been hell recently, what with Sturgis transferring in after the death of Lieutenant Singer, and then the fancy little frolic on the Henry and abroad. Yes, she deserved some relaxation, and if that relaxation came in the form of one of her fellow island vacationers, there were worse things that could happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Mac sighed as she looked out of the restaurant over the vast ocean. The sun was a fiery ball just about to touch the water. She smiled as she recalled the "rule" she'd encountered while investigating a mishap in Pensacola: one must say "pssst" as the sun reaches the water. The quaint local custom of making the noise the sun certainly was as it sank into water that was positively frigid by comparison was exactly the kind of local custom she'd always wanted to find in the places she'd lived, but never had.

She shook herself from her reverie as she heard a smooth, deep, foreign voice asking, "Excuse me, madam, but is this seat available?"

Her interlocutor was the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome foreign guy--except he was real, and _much_ better looking than the stereotype. His dark hair was crew cut and he had beautiful sea-blue eyes. And oh, Lord, the muscles on him! Mac blessed her Marine training that allowed her to remain calm… or rather, _look _like she remained calm… at the prospect of quite possibly the hunkiest man she had ever seen asking if he could sit with her at dinner. Mac smiled and paused; after all, what could be the harm in it? And didn't she say that an island tryst might be just what she needed? "Please," she said, finding her voice and gesturing gracefully, "have a seat."

Before he folded his tall frame into the chair opposite hers, he held out a hand, hesitated, and said, "Harmon Rabb."

Mac moved to shake his hand as she said "Sarah MacKenzie," but he evaded the handshake and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Delighted," he murmured as he sat.

The meal progressed swimmingly; Mac found that she had much in common with Harm. They liked many of the same music and movies, and they had read many of the same books. He was able to discuss intelligently on foreign affairs--which Brumby, for all his world travels, could not do and Webb, because he had to analyze them much more in depth for his bread and butter, was loathe to do. She found that she could enlighten him on the Muslim community, for though there was a large Muslim population in his home country, they were geographically and socially isolated. When he asked how she knew so much, Mac was unable to discern his response to her answer. It was not discomfort, but had an element of it. "All's fair in love and war, though," thought Mac, as she was displeased to discover that he was so knowledgeable about governmental affairs because he was the son of a diplomat. He enjoyed hearing about Chloe and baby AJ, though, which earned him points. As she related stories of AJ's bumbling but brilliant father and doting mother, she was careful to edit out any references to JAG or the military: if things were heading the way she hoped they were, she didn't want him wondering if she could murder him in bed--most guys found that a turn-off.

At last the meal ended, the resort complex tallying the bills to their separate accounts, and Harm suggested a walk on the beach. "I'd intended to walk on the beach anyway," Mac said. "But it will be nice to have some company." That was true, of course; she had no intention of missing a moment of the glorious beach that she didn't have to, but she was wary of seeming to desperate. After all, she didn't _feel_ desperate, but he couldn't know that.

They walked a ways in companionable silence. A small part of Mac's brain noted how quickly such a comfort level had grown up between them, but she mostly just lived in the moment and enjoyed the sand under her feet, the warmth of the waves playing on her toes, the slight chill of the breeze as it played across her bare shoulders, and the warm strength of his hand around hers.

Harm interrupted her reverie to ask the time. So comfortable was she that she didn't even protest that she wasn't even wearing a watch. "10:38," she replied briskly. Then, aware that she might have sounded to curt, decided to add something to soften her response. "Why?" she asked. "Will you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?"

His answer sent shivers up her spine. "No, I just want to make sure that my princess doesn't run away without leaving me with any more information than a shoe."

She gasped in spite of herself and looked up at his face, cursing the darkness she had just been enjoying for her inability to see his face. Despite herself, she was slightly startled when he leaned down and kissed her. She was even more surprised when he took the key from her hand and unlocked the door to the bungalow directly behind them. "And now," he said. "I believe this is your bungalow, so I'll say good night and call for you tomorrow." With another kiss on her hand, Mac found herself handed into her room, key in her hand, and the door shut… with Harm on the other side.

"Well," she thought, as she began undressing where she stood, "that certainly was… an interesting evening."

And with that she crawled into bed, alone, to wonder about her new acquaintance and whether she would, indeed, see him the following day. "And how in the hell," was her last thought as she succumbed to slumber, "did he know that my name means 'princess'?"


	3. Chapter 3

Mac awoke the next morning feeling slightly out of sorts. As she lay in bed, collecting her thoughts, she decided that the not-quite-perky feeling was somehow related to her dinner partner from the night before. Oh, he seemed wonderful: tall, dark, handsome, foreign, built, and polite? That was simply too good to be true.

When she had reached this point in her ruminations, she heard a knock on her door. She sat up and raked her fingers through her hair, hoping to look more presentable if it was, in fact, Harm. After all, he had said he'd call for her tomorrow, which was now today. "Come in," she called.

When the door opened, Mac was somewhat disappointed to discover it was not, in fact, Harm. It was instead one of the hotel staff carrying a tray. "Breakfast in bed," the woman said. "Compliments of Harmon Rabb, Junior, and he requests that you join him this morning for a scuba-diving excursion."

Mac recalled that scuba diving was one of the topics that they had discussed over dinner the previous night. She had discovered scuba diving while she was serving in Japan--contrary to the Corps' belief, she did do more than sleep with John on that assignment. Harm, she recalled him saying, had gone scuba diving on a previous trip to this area, and went often when he could get away, as his job left him precious little time for private pursuits.

She readily assented, and the young woman told her where to meet Harm, and when.

Later

Mac and Harm sat on an outdoor patio at the resort complex, having a late lunch after their scuba excursion. As they remarked on what they had seen and previous scuba experiences, Mac realized that it was not Harm that she was slightly wary of, but her own feelings towards him. "Square it away, Marine," she thought to herself. "Yes, he's gorgeous and brilliant and available, but that's no reason to be overanalyzing this. Seriously, MacKenzie, what are the chances that this will be anything more than an island tryst?" With her stellar track record where men were concerned, Mac knew that she shouldn't be blindly trusting her feelings, but it still seemed to her that there was something different about her feelings for Harm. As he trailed off, she realized that he had noticed that she wasn't paying as much attention as she could. Luckily, she had years of practice listening with the surface of her mind while the rest of it was far away--it was the only way you could live with a mean drunk and retain what little self-worth she had.

"You know," she said in response to … something about the riot of colors. "Jerry Garcia said that if he had gone scuba diving before he'd tried drugs, he never would have smoked dope."

"Jerry Garcia?" Harm questioned. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar…"

Mac looked at Harm incredulously. "Jerry Garcia… from the Grateful Dead."

"Oh, wait. I've heard of them! They're… um… a cult, right?" Harm replied excitedly.

Mac gave an undignified and slightly rude snicker. "Yes, I suppose one could call them that, as long as one understands that their 'religion' is sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll. And, of course, that the Deadheads don't generally intentionally commit suicide because their leader tells them to."

Harm smacked himself on the head. "Grateful Dead, of course, they're a band. With the bears. Many American students I see backpacking across the country are aficionados."

"And many non-students, too," Mac said. "I've got their greatest hits album at work. It helps take the edge off the rough days."

"From what I've heard of them, that could be the case. Of course, it could have the opposite effect, as well. Dispatching one's coworkers could have a negative effect on both office morale and opportunities for advancement."

Mac laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Harm; they all know how to duck."


	4. Chapter 4

After their late lunch, Mac returned to her bungalow to write postcards. She wasn't sure how long the mail would take, and she wanted her friends to hear from her before she got back.

Dear Chloe, (one of the postcards read)  
I'm having a great time on vacation so far! I went scuba diving today--you and I should go the next time I come to visit you. The fish and anemones are so beautiful! How's your grandmother doing? Is Jingo behaving himself? Miss you!  
Love,  
Mac

Hi Harriet,  
The weather is perfect, and so is the body of the guy I went scuba diving with today! Seriously, though, next time a certain federal employee is handing out perilous and life-threatening assignments that come with vacations, I'll suggest Bud--you and he simply must come here! You'd love it! On second thought, would playing Webb's lover be worth it to your beloved?  
:) Mac

Dear Admiral,  
Thank you so much for the time off to come down here--it's wonderful! I'll bring back brochures; surely this is the kind of place we should have the next JAG retreat?! Seriously, though, sir, if Prospero had been stranded on this island, he wouldn't have been scheming to get back to his dukedom. I'll be back as scheduled, though; who would ever trade JAG for a dukedom?  
Mac

Hi Clayton--  
If I transfer to your Company, would they station me down here? I'm sure there's all sorts of illicit goings-on, and although it would be a job, I would search every grain of sand to find them. I'm surprised some government or other hasn't tried to make it their own private retreat for heads of state! Thanks so much-  
Sarah

Writing postcards, taking a shower, and simply relaxing on the beach took up all of Mac's afternoon. As it drew near time for dinner, she put on her red cotton halter-top dress and headed towards the main building and dining room. As she was putting her postcards in the mailbox in the lobby, she saw Harm walking towards her, carrying a flower and smiling. He handed the flower to her, kissed her cheek, and held out his arm to escort her into dinner. She forgot all about her notes to her friends as she floated into the dining room.


End file.
